The Holiday Surf and Sun

Like past Xmases, we commemorated the re-unification of various idols and the commercial celebration of the populace's ability to spend spend spend by spending the day at the beach.
Same beach, same Xmas.



Only this year, of course, Dinky came along to bark at the water and poop in the sand.

This Xmas has been quite adventureless, what with me having a cold and all, which ain't fun.

The staff at FppInternational would like to officially hope y'all are having a great holiday season and ask you to join us in a prayer to elicit something exciting in the near future for said staff, so these damn posts pick up a little.

Really, how many dog pictures can people look at before there is some sorta bloody revolution?

Join 'em

If you can't beat 'em, wear the goddamn hat yerself.

No longer battling the dog.

News Haikus 15. Tiger, Buy The Tail.

One month ago the editors at FppInternational had the following reasons to like Tiger Woods: 1. He's the greatest golfer in the world.
How much "liking" that gets from FppI: .005%. We do not care about golf. We do not care about golfers. It's a boring frustrating game for fat, rich old men.

2. He's a complete corporate whore, shilling everything from Buicks to Nike feces to Anal Lube.
How much "liking" that gets from FppI: .00000001%. He's a class-A douchebag.

Consensus: Fuck Tiger Woods.


Now however, Tiger has become a more, shall we say, interesting character on the world stage. There are now things about him to be liked. For example:
1. From now on when you have a smash up with your rig, you can tell the cops when you'll be willing to talk to them. "Yeah, sure, officer, I would love to come down to the station, but I am playing with my Wii. I'll come along in three or four days with my lawyer to explain why I drunkenly smashed into that Dunkin Doughnuts." Thank you, Tiger. You have established a great president there. I will deal with the authorities now only on my own terms. Awesome.
How much "liking" that gets from FppI: 22%. We can all be Tiger, we can all tell the cops to get bent while we figure out some bullshit exit strategy.

2. Mr. Wholesome Disneyland Gosh and Heck gets to bang cocktail waitresses all over the free world. There's nothing wholesome about me. I get to do some really crazy sick shit with goats and midget trapeze artists from the former Soviet Union
How much "liking" that gets from FppI: 44%. We don't have to worry about anything anymore, not any morality or religious/socially instilled ideas of respect or decency. We get to do whatever the fuck we want as long as we can afford it. Which for the editors at FppInternational means watching Cinemax after 11:45 pm.


Tiger is now up there with Dick Butkus, Lawrence Taylor and Lou Pineda. He's on the fast track to becoming a decent guy.

So, when Tiger was leaving Australia (no doubt after a liason with a Kangaroo cocktail waitress), he was talking about how great his life was and all that. Then, a scant few days later, he's deeply sorry and needs time to consider his actions. SUCH BULLSHIT. He's only sorry he got caught. And got caught like such an asshole too. I hope his wife really beat the crap out of him.



BTW. This Taiwanese thing is awesome beyond description.

HAIKU:

I am rich and known.
I do anyfuckingthing.
Swedish chicks are tough.

Feeling Guilty

Feeling Guilty about not posting since the Carter administration, FppInternational.com now features back-to-back December posts.

OK.
So, basically the lives of all the employees here at FppInternational have been revolving around one little brown and white thing over the last seven months. No, not Good Luck Fucking that Chicken, nor Driving in Jamaica. Our journalistic lives and integrity are solidly centered on all things Dinky. But just how many goddamn pictures can be taken of a stupid dog?

If my wife has anything to say about it, plenty.

So, we had the brilliant idea of getting either reindeer antlers or a santa hat on Dinky and taking some pictures and sending them out at Christmas time and all that. I don't think the antlers were in the house for 24 hours before they were eaten.
The hat at least made it a couple days, but has yet to actually sit on the sneaky little bugger's cranium.





So, happy holidays, and don't expect too much from Colombia this year, as all gifts are eaten or smashed or peed on by the time they are wrapped.

Kisses
FPPInternational

Holidays 2009, The three-month Blog.

Ok, kids, like the sequel to Twilight, this post is well worth the wait.



Well, I guess not. Like, New Moon, this post is gonna suck. It seems that three months have come and gone with nary a BQ Gringo event. Our basketball team got beat a bunch, and we didn't dress up for Halloween. We are, however, still alive, and as the holidays approach with their delicious vacation time, the Editors at FPPInternational promise new, exciting and ground breaking news from BQ.
BTW...seems Tiger Woods has a penis that he likes to show off to lotsa girls.
and Micheal Jackson is still dead.

That's all for now.

Fpp

News Haikus #14 .....That Chicken

I just ran across this in the Huffington Post...

Probably this newsman from the Big Apple is already out of a job. If so, FPPInternational is hiring. Journalistic integrity is such a rarity these days.


the expression on the female newscaster is the greatest thing in the universe.Ernie Anastos is my new favorite guy. More favoriter than Burt Reynolds and Lawrence Taylor combined. Haiku...

Health Care, shmealth Care, who
Cares when we have quotes like, "Keep
Fucking that Chicken."

Just Something, Anything.

We are still alive here in BQ. Although to call this existence 'life' is to make the phrase "live it up" an apt description for learning grammar. Anyway, although we are not cool or adventurous or exciting or robbing banks or filleting walleye in an autumn windstorm-rocked skiff with a jack-knife, we are alive and recently went to a wedding. We danced at the wedding, which is better than staying at home watching TV. When FPPInternational has some news to report, you'll be the first to know. Michael Jackson is finally underground. It took two months for some reason.

Return to "The Paint"

Technical difficulties...
So, fifteen months into operation, the handy-dandy twisty-screened little HP notebook with the fancy-schmancy Photoshop on there decided to become a sleek black paperweight. One afternoon the screen went all zippy zappy and La Flaca said, "Hey, the screen's going all zippy zappy."
Computer guy said, "It went all zippy zappy? Hmmm. Lemme look. This thing's toast."
Two weeks later we are back on the old Compaq here, at FPPInternational headquarters, relying on 2004 technology, which can be frightening. This thing was built before the Democrats controlled the house and senate, before Lady Gaga, before any of the seventy-eight thousand Micheal Jackson tributes. So the next few posts will have a very Flintstones-type feel to them, until we can step back into the second half of the first decade of the new millenium. And, maybe most importantly, we are once again using Microsoft's Cro-Magnon standby program Paint to crop the photos. Welcome back, red-eye! God help us all.



Oh yeah, I am back at work. Dinky got a bath today, Amber came back to BQ for a visit, and Hugo Chavez is still ranting about some sorta bullshit next door.



Kisses from the past,

FPPInternational

Dinky is All Grows Up!

This evening, right as Walter Cronkite was passing, Dinky initiated himself into manhood by humping La Flaca's sister's leg a couple times.



Now, only hours later, he drinks beer and picks his nose and wears Hawaiian shirts. Man, dogs advance so much faster than humans. There wasn't even a Harry Potter-reading age.



by the way, that's my sweatsock over there by the sofa

adios, puppihood.

Jamaica III, Ghosts in the Machines

Man, that Derrick Harriott's got some rockin' tunes. Three times through that Cd, Joe and I listened, while slowly, determinedly, unerringly making our way to Negril on the morning of the 24th. But that story's already been told. So, here we are, in Jamaica, land of the Rastas, Jerk chicken, Bob Marley, Ganga, shitty roads, and white sand beaches.



After all that could be said was said, and after all that could be done was done, we decided enough was enough and it was high time to get back to where we once belonged. Along with Andy, in a relatively matching Yaris, La Flaca and I made for the north coast, dropping Amberlicious at the Montego Bay Aereopuerto at five-o-nothing am, guided by our handy Shell-Station map, while Andy trusted his handy GPS unit (which loved advising little detours, for sightseers, it seems). We crossed the northern coast of Jamaica, west to east with nary a hitch, finally landing in Ocho Rios, which read to be a little resort town. Unbenownst to us, Ocho Rios is a MAJOR little resort town, being a cruise-ship stop. The place was positively thick with tourists and inordinately expensive hotels. However, we found one (hotel) which proved to be a great deal and spent our last night surrounded by chubby white folks with flowered shirts and socks on under their flip-flops (and drunken college kids).



The drive from Ocho Rios back to Kingston, however, was far more--uhhhhh......--interesting than the drive from Montego bay to Ocho Rios. The trip south involved mountains. And if I thought the drive from Kingston to Negril was adventurous, it was absolutely tame compared to Annotto Bay to Kingston. The road was positively nauseating in its curviness and climbi-and-descendi-ness but was eventually conquered, just in time to make our flight and our escape back to the world where I can insult people in English right in front of them without getting punched in the face.



In panama, La Flaca shopped and I walked up and down the mall. Oh, I bought some guitar strings, too.

News Haikus 17, Strange Suicide Pact?

This morning pop culture scientists unearthed this photo of Micheal Jackson, Steve McNair and Farrah Fawcett together at a Nashville Applebee's. Coincidence?

Man, Farrah's neck sure don't match her face.

Haiku:

That poor Karl Malden,
If he'd died banging Britney
Spears he'd have made news.

Jamaica II, the Driver's Paradise.

Jamaica is an Island. It isn't a gigantic Island. There are roads running all around Jamaica. I have driven these roads.


I am pretty sure I have driven a higher percentage of the paved motorways of Jamaica than the paved motorways of any other nation of the world.
In an attempt to make the transition from Kingston airport to the beaches of Negril painless and fun, we rented a Toyota Yaris at the airport in Kingston. This was, and is, a good move.
Since we had wheels and a destination, we informed our pal Joe (flying into Kingston a few hours after us) that we had the wheels and asked if he'd be willing to navigate the way to Negril. (a couple details: 1. La Flaca is very capable and intelligent, but has almost no motoring experience and roughly the same map-reading experience; 2. The guy who owns the house we were to be staying in in Negril responded with horror when I informed him we would be driving from Kingston to Negril. "You'll never make it at night," I think he said.) Anyway, Joe said, hell yes.

Joe's flight got in at 8:0 something or other, so La Flaca and I rented our cool blue Yaris and headed into Kingston, drove around with a map a homeless guy gave us at a gas station and eventually had lunch, missed the closing time of the Bob Marley museum, bought some Cd's for the trip and did a little sight-seeing in Kingston (there is precious little to see, by the way). We also got some cash to fascilitate all that other stuff. It literally took us an hour driving around to find a working cash machine. When we did, I was very happy, got inside, inserted my Colombian cash card and viola, the system was 100% operational, except for one thing, I had no goddamned idea what the exchange rate was, nothing, not an inkling. I didn't even know what the currency was called, pounds, dollars, drachma, rubles, no fucking idea here.
So, faced with the question of "how much cash you want, mon," and not a single option on the screen, I dialed in 500.00 and waited. Three seconds later, bang, 500 Jamaican bucks. All right. I walked back to the car with a feeling of triumph. Once we were driving again, La flaca asked me, "How much did you get?"
"500 bucks," I replied.
"Wow," she said. "Either I just saw some really expensive flip-flops, or you got basically nothing." I wasn't crushed, but it had been a lot of work for six bucks. To make a short story short, we got some more cash, after talking to a nice woman who worked at a bank and we ate our first jerk chicken, listened to the cd of the guy who's face was on LaFlaca's new tank top, and headed to the airport for the 8:00 Joe pickup.
The drive to the airport was completely uneventful, and then we saw the great news that flights out of Miami/Ft. Lauderdale were all being delayed due to weather. We decided to hang around, and around and around. And, once again, to make a short story short, at around 11:30pm, Joe exited the airport with a guard, and explained that he could leave the airport if we could tell him the name and address of the house we were staying at in Negril. I guess that mattered to them.

At 11:58 pm, we hit the road, and we got the hell out of Kingston. At Spanishtown, thirty minutes later, we wondered what the hell all the caution was about, the roads were big, well-lit, fast, and very clear. At Sandy Bay, thirty minutes later, we were both sure we were lost, having mysteriously left the main road. However, with the aid of our new, trusty Shell road-map and the map light of the trusty Yaris, and our two Cd's (Buju Banton's Rasta Got Soul, and Derrick Harriott's Checkin' Out the Hits), we discerned that the itty-bitty, windey, unlit, sometimes single-lane piece of blacktop was indeed the main southern route from Kingston to Negril. Holy Hell. Luckily for LaFlaca, she slept, or feigned sleep, 80% of the five hours we were on the road.

Finally, to, for the last time, make a short story short, we got to our house in Negril as the sun rose, although a policeman had to call the owner of the house and take us there, as we had NO idea where in Negril we were staying.



Thus, the first leg of our trek around Jamaica ended, and we slept, for a couple hours, in the dewy dawn of Negril, thankful that we were done driving, giving no consideration to the return trip.

ttfn,
fpp

Jamaica I. The Reason for the Season.

All right, crackers (and others), we just got our pretty little selves back from Jamaica, which is an island somewhere in the south pacific. It is where Renoir went to paint Polynesians during his Blue period, which is the period immediately before sudden death.



We went there to ride the trail of Lewis and Clark and also to see Brad and Sarah get themselves hitched. Although no one in our party speaks fluent Jamaican, we are relatively sure the wedding really went down. Which is nice, 'cause now they can have sex and kids, and buy a noisy damned dog.

Anyway, Negril was the destination, Brad and Sarah the invitation, their nuptials the occasion, and being all Jamaica-y mellow and throwing around Respect fistpumps the justification.



The management and staff here at FPPInternational would like that extend a big 'ole thanks to brad and sarah for the invite and a bigger 'oler congrats to their sealing of the deal.
many happy returns.

more jamaican adventures to come.

ciao for now.

The Last Chiva

Chiva season has finally ended, and the gringoes, knowing nothing more than how to follow directions, embarked on yet another adventure in the night on a bus with some rum after a soiree uhhhh prepositional phrase #6.



I love chivas. It is so easy to blog a chiva. bus riding with drunk people all over town, dancing. beer. rum. cheap street food. strange goings on. fun stuff.

At one point Leslie borrowed my camera and took better pictures with it than I have ever taken, which makes me feel more inadequate than usual, and that's saying something.

News Haikus 16, Il's Science Experiment

It seems our Korean pal Kim Jung Il has been playing with his science set in the basement, blowing shit up.

From the NY Times

North Korean Nuclear Claim Draws Global Criticism

SEOUL, South Korea — News of North Korea's nuclear test on Monday drew condemnation and criticism around the world, with some governments threatening to press for tighter sanctions at a special meeting of the United Nations Security Council scheduled for later in the afternoon.
...
Hours after the latest test, the North test-fired three short-range, surface-to-air missiles, an official at the South Korean defense ministry said. The three missiles were launched toward the sea between North Korea and Japan and had a range of 80 miles, the official said, speaking on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to discuss the matter with the media. They were fired from two bases not far from the nuclear test site in northeast North Korea, he said.

Haiku:
Japanese folks must
wonder when someone else will
finally get nuked

Swine Flu Pandemic? News Haikus 15

Having nothing of serious note to report, the trusted information disseminators at the major news networks have decided to bring up the bird flu again, and COMPARE it to the swine flu. If people stop panicking over something stupid. Make it more stupid. Just keep the dumb bastards scared. I am starting to think that whoever-it-is that manufactures those cool paper masks that people in China and Michael Jackson wear has some major-league lobbying power.

From ABC News....

Swine Flu vs. Bird Flu: Which Is the Greater Pandemic Threat?

As health officials around the globe continue to monitor the swine flu outbreaks that have occurred within the past month, comparisons with the periodic bird flu outbreaks over the past decade are difficult to avoid. Seems that some sorta cage match is called for, if you ask me.

Haiku:

When more folks have swine
flu than arena football
season tick's, panic!

THe Dinky Cronicles II, Bath Day

My wife now has everything she's ever dreamed of.
1. Nice Pad
2. Perfect Husband
3. World Peace
4. Well Mannered Puppy



Wait. My wife has one of those things. Our apartment is nice.
I think on day one, a week ago, she thought she was halfway there (having abandoned any hope for numbers 2 and 3). I am sure that now, even she, the patient, puppy-loving softy that she is, has come to consider cane-cide. Dr. Dinkus is truly an asshole.

There is nothing so relaxing on a Saturday morning as waking up at six thirty to a crying bedpost-biting dog, walking through a maze of five urine puddles and two poop-bombs in order to clean up the puddles and bombs with news-paper and then mop the floor, all while being bitten on the ankles by the one responsible for the poop and pee, which is being cleaned up. Then the mop is attacked. Then the ankles again. His little itty-bitty teeth sure are cute.



Ah, domestic bliss.

Retribution came in the form of giving Dinky his first bath, which, of course, he did not enjoy.

Domestication

I guess 2009 is the year I really, finally, completely moved on from College-aged Fpp.
Getting married was the first step, I guess. I brought the second step home yesterday morning, Mother's day, actually. Making La Flaca a mother, of sorts.

This is Dr. Dinkus Reichlin, PhD.



Bring on the kids and mortgage. Drive the nails in the coffin, anyone.

The Worker's Celebrate. Ho Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum

Colombia, like many other countries, celebrates the day of the working man (or woman) on May 1. And is there, really, any better way to demonstrate our solidarity with the plight of the world's workers than by dressing up as pirates, boarding an old sailing ship, drinking rum and mooning a Scientologist cruise ship?



The answer, obviously, is hell no! So we did just that. The entire Colombian community of gringoes appeared from parts as distant as Bogota, Bucaramanga, San Diego, and Santa Marta, nearly all in some goofy get-up. The editors of this fine instrument of reportage did their damnedest as well, although somewhat stretching the modern interpretation of "pirate," I think.



When the timer on the scoreboard finally sounded the end of the fourth quarter, the game had been won, and won handily, by team gringo. Most people made it back to beds. Daybreak met the unshaven, unruly, unkempt crew too early, but riders were arranged and people made it home okay, although it had begun to rain. So the dry season is over in BQ. Let the arroyo assault begin anew.

Feliz day of the Trabajador, amigos.
FPPInternational

NEWS HAIKUS #14, DIAL C FOR CRAIGSLIST

From The Seattle Times

Arrest over Craigslist sex-and-death ad

A Craigslist ad seeking a woman willing to have sex and be killed led police to arrest a Kent man when he showed up at a hotel with a length of chain and a knife.

I have always found Craigslist low-tech approach kinda creepy, like a really cheap porn magazine. Reading the article, the detail that I liked the most was that the ad was found in an area called "Casual Encounters." Wow. What the hell kinda requests do people post in "Intense Encounters?" Haiku:

Poor John Wayne Gacy,
You wore that clown suit thirty
years pre - internet.